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Chocolate Muffins
Rplog-icon Who: Dragnet and Oracle
Where: Clock Tower - Gotham City
When: August 25, 2012. Evening.
Tone: Social
What: Dragnet comes to visit his Birds of Prey boss, Oracle, while she's recuperating.


Oracle is not a happy camper. Not only was she stabbed, and forced to give her identity and secret location away to two of her younger operatives, but she's now stuck on a few days bed rest and has the arm attached to her injured shoulder in a sling. Do you know how hard that makes it to type? She's got her S-Pad in her lap, propped up on her pillows, as she tries to still direct emergencies to various vigilantes.

Would anyone? Dragnet would be hard pressed to find any occasion that would be more traumatizing than yet /another/ injury, an invasion of ones secret lair, and having your largely undertrained and underwhelming lackeys tromping about your Fortress of Awesome...and in Dragnet's case making a rather big hole in it. Still, knocks on the door, having skulked around the streets about the tower. Maybe he feels responsible. Maybe he feels like he has the least to do and has the most potential to...maybe, okay, maybe he hopes he can ward off any further concerns. He stays in the armor....he may know her identity, but her knowing his would...it would destroy his ability to function. To be a hero, to be someone she could actually trust, he /needs/ to be Dragnet. "Need some help? I type pretty fast. Also...I brought muffins." They are pilfered muffins from the 'not sold that day' pile, but....its a small crime. Guy has to eat, right?

With her variety of systems in place, Babs knows he's there. The door unlocks for him to let him in. "Muffins?" she asks, perking up a little bit. "I'm glad you stopped by. I have a room on this floor set aside for you, and one for Spoiler as well, when you need a place to crash or work in peace."

Its a testament to his growing level of comfort that he hasn't engaged his stealth systems, prompting a tug of war between technologies. He brings in the box, setting it beside her bed. "Chocolate, Blueberry, some sort of cinammon swirly...thing." Descriptive muffin terminology is not his strong point. He nods as she mentions that. "Thanks. I might set up a few projects...its hard to conduct any kind of meaningful testing right now." Also, the idea of a bed, its a tempting one. Even if he would end up sleeping sealed in the armor. "I am pleased that you are happy to see me." He seems sincere, downright chuffed at that acknowledgement. He waits for her to talk, mostly...things like 'are you okay?' he isn't good at. He is also perceptive enough to know that scratching past the surface of that might lead to a dangerous place. Is anyone okay, who fights with monsters, especially ones that look so alike to them?

"Chocolate. When in doubt, always make it chocolate," Babs quips. She looks pale and tired, and understandable miserable, but she's going to be fine in time. "I guess I don't need to emphasize the huge importance of you maintaining my identity and the location of my nest?" she asks. Paraplegic vigilante info brokers make lots of enemies, and aren't so hot in the running away department.

Dragnet peels it out of the wrapper and offers it to her, nudging the pad out of her hands. Bad work is often worse than no work at all, or so the saying goes. The helmeted figure looks at her for a long moment, cocking his head as if to truly understand the strangeness of her request. "...I understand the fear you have. I understand the risks. I'm a safe bet though. I don't have anyone to talk to. Anyone who actually gets that kind of shot at me has their own reasons to go after me, not just you." He pauses, breathes and rubs his hands. Perhaps making it about him was the wrong tact. "I haven't had anyone trust me in a long time. Haven't had the opportunity or felt I earned it. I will try to be worthy of the burden, even if it was one given without your desire." He talks slightly at length given the emotions present, but its not the same babble he once spouted. There is some spine around it.

Babs accepts the muffin and picks off a chunk of it to pop in her mouth. She chews it, lost in thought, then swallows and looks at Dragnet. "Thanks. I don't want you to get the idea that I'm helpless because of that chair though. I stay in shape, my mind is sharp as hell, and I can still kick your ass, wheelchair or no." She smiles a little at him, then drops the bomb. "I used to be Batgirl."

One might expect it to be a bigger bomb. Dragnet pauses, studying her through the helmet. His hands fold as he sits behind her, almost giving the illusion of being in prayer as he regards her. "I can see it. So closely connected to the Bats and Birds, the knowledge and the skill. I assume the Hood was also...a Robin, then?" He fills in blanks quickly. There is a common genesis, and what he lacks for in superhuman genius he makes up for in intuiting. "Only family hates and loves like that." Her defense of her talent and her aptitude remains unanswered, almost as if he did not think of it coming to mind.

"Something like that," Babs says quietly. "We were very close. But something happened to him and he's not in his right mind. We're still hoping it can be remedied. I didn't really think he'd hurt me though. He could have shot me four times before the troops arrived, but he kept hesitating. He's still in there, somewhere." She chomps into the muffin angrily.

"A rabid dog still remembers that it was the family pet, somewhere in there. Or so they say..." Her mention of something happening causes a bob of the head. "That kind of crisis of faith, to break him from the common system, the shared ethos you all share, you have to ask how much of someone remains within after something like that. I will not say that it cannot be done, but it might be best to curtail his freedom as soon as possible. As he is now, he has an open wound, and the detritus of the world is infecting it. He only gets worse, not better, as he is exposed to the world. More certain that he is justified." There is a pause as he exhales, fingers pressing tightly against one another. "I think thats part of why I took so many of the weapon systems out of the armor, when I found it. Because if I ever came to view the world as he did, it would be extremely easy to take a sledgehammer to the world."

"That's why I brought you here, into all this, Dragnet. With that armor you could have chosen to be the ultimate thief, or an assassin, or a hitman. Instead, you decided to do good with it," Babs notes. "Not a lot of people would have made that choice." She brushes crumbs off her blanket with her good hand.

"You vastly overestimate my talents." Dragnet wags a finger. Glad to take the subject off The Hood...its a problem with no easy solution, and she needs to rest and recover. Best to guide her onto a subject that she feels a benevolent passion towards. "Besides, even if I wanted to do that sort of thing, the higher ups in those fields would be more inclined to turn me to paste. Heroes have this ill-conceived notion that if you wear it, or at least own it for a long enough time, you should have some right to it, as long as you don't screw it up too bad."

"Down the hall here, I have a training room. We can work on that stuff with you. And work on using that armor to it's best advantage. Like I told you before, right now you're really the only one of us who can sneak around effectively in broad daylight," Babs reminds him with a smile. She leans back against her pillows again. Her hair is in a short ponytail, her glasses on top of her head, and she's in sweats.

He actually takes off one of the gauntlets, laying his hand of hers sympathetically. A bare hand...a step far and beyond his usual obsession with secrecy. "I already put a hole in your tower. You wish to flirt with me making another? Still...I suppose I have to learn somewhere." Dragnet admits, rolling his shoulders as he sets aside his own muffin. "Daylight isn't so shard. Just avoid the sun, and keep out of places that scream 'I am trying to look dark and menacing'."

"I'm fairly sure I can hack into some bad guys offshore accounts to shore up the tower walls for your practice sessions, Dragnet," Barbara quips with a chuckle, then winces. Laughing hurts. "Can you actually imagine Batman trying to NOT look dark and menacing?"

"I thought that is why he made little bats.....so he could be the bad cop and you could be the slightly less.....scary.....cop." Okay, Dragnet utterly failed there. His hand pats her own, giving a slightly reassuring squeeze. "Or he reproduces by mitosis in which case that is both terrifying and alarming." He says with a nervous laugh. Mention of shoring up walls for practice sessions does produce....well, not a blush, but an ominous behind the helmet silence. "I sort of had to keep at least one of the bigger guns. Sometimes the people who want the armor have mechs...or big tanks."

"Understood. I was surprised you didn't faint dead away when you realized I wasn't a handsome doctor man," Babs notes, brow arching. Oh yes, she has not forgotten that.

Dragnet shrugs. "I was sort of busy not being shot at and making sure you had some something bulletproof between you and the rampaging gunman. Besides, I find no discomfort in being wrong. If anything, it just makes the respect quotient higher. There are few female vigilantes and fewer girls on the internet. To be both makes you a kind of intriguing jackalope, really." He muses as he takes her teasing in stride. "I made the initial guess because quite frankly I was panicked and babbling and sort of had my filter disengaged...."

"I prefer being a chupacabra if it's all the same to you," Babs murmurs. She looks sleepy. "I think it might be time for me to take a little nap here Dragnet. Last room on the right is available for your use. We can set up security metrics on it for your privacy after I'm off bedrest." Painkillers make Oracle sleeeeepy.

And with that note, Dragnet fades out. Stealthing quite literally away as she goes to sleep. "Good night. Sleep well. I'll hold the fort." For once, she doesn't have to rely on just clocktower security to do the bulk of it.

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